


After the Tone

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst and Humor, Awesome Benny, Awkward Castiel, Barista Benny, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Castiel & Benny Lafitte Friendship, Coffee Shops, Concerned Castiel, Drunk Dean, Drunk Dialing, Flirty Dean, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Nurse Castiel, Phone Calls & Telephones, Shy Castiel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Voice Messages, Voicemail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7063003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the record, Dean’s mildly amused by the message.</p>
<p>Off the record, Dean’s head’s so far west, he’s on a 3:10 to Yuma and praying the heat stroke passes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Tone

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by an old favorite of mine, ELO's "Telephone Line".

**

_Okay, so no one's answering_

_Well, can't you just let it ring a little longer, longer, longer, longer?_

_I'll just sit tight through shadows of the night_

_But let it ring for evermore_

**

_“Heya, Sammy, heh… ‘s Dean… betcha aren’t surprised to hear from me so soon… I’m, uh, I’m in a bit of a tight situation’s you might call it…not anything illegal, you don’t need’ta represent me in that penguin suit of yours… you always were a chubby little kid with a chubby little… anyway, I don’t have any money, I, uh, I really dunno where I’m at, the letters are all eggs n’ bacey. Jus’ call me, k?”_

Castiel took a deep breath, pinching the right frame of his wide glasses before setting them on the coffee table. The recording states “end of message”, then gives him the ultimatum for the fifth time: He can either call back, or delete the memo from his machine.

If he hadn’t had his morning and evening coffee, Castiel would choose the latter without clemency. But this man, Dean sounds (aside from mixing too much Pop Rocks and Coke when he was a kid) genuinely distressed—at least for someone inebriated beyond intelligent speak, anyway. And who knows if the guy he meant to call, Sammy, knows of his drunken tendencies. Who knows if Sam even _cares?_

Castiel’s dad turned into a raging alcoholic after his Aunt Amara passed away, and no one cared about him.

Not to say Dean necessarily has a problem _,_ everyone drinks every now and again.

Unless your name is Castiel Novak, then you have a _gold card_ with Starbucks.

Besides, he doesn’t even _know the guy!_ Well, not until ten minutes ago, that is. 

Castiel runs his thumb over the dial pad. The problem is, it’s kind of in his job description to help people. Just the other day, while he was helping Meg Masters out of her wheelchair for the first time in two whole years, her boyfriend, Clarence, wrapped his arm around Castiel like Peter Pan on Captain Hook’s pointy hand and soaked his scrubs in his gratitude.

That kind of stuff feels _good._ It’s always felt good. It helps him sleep knowing one less heart (or leg) is broken.

That and coffee. Coffee helps.

“ _This is Dean’s other,_ other _cell, so you must know what to do.”_

With his hand shaking just a little after the long, automated beep, Castiel says:

“Uhm, hey, Dean, is it? You don’t know me, but my name is Castiel…”

***

“ _Listen, I got your message. I believe your intention was to send it to a Sam, or Sammy. I… I just want to make sure you’re okay, you know? You just sounded a little out of it. I understand if you don’t want to call me back, but I couldn’t let you believe your brother, or boyfriend, or whoever, doesn’t care. I’m sure he’s a great guy. Anyway, I’ll leave a callback number just in case… okay, bye.”_

Dean blew stale ale through his nose. God, even his _breathing_ annoyed him. And his hair, oh God, why is he combing his fingers through his hair? Who knows what gunk’s stuck in that ratty haystack.

He’s gotten so bad, random strangers are calling to make sure more than just his dick’s erect.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” a familiar voice rounding Dean’s usual table—which is virtually anything furthest from the double pane windows in the front—chimes. That’s what he likes about Benny. Aside from one of the handsomer baristas on the eastside of Kansas with a strong stubbled jawline and Huskie-blue eyes, Benny doesn’t stick to southerner values, i.e., he actually says _out_ of other people’s business most of the time.

“You too,” Dean replies, bringing the warmth embracing his palms to his pursed pink lips. It goes down as easy as oil in a busted engine, but it helps with the throbbing.

“You’re keepin’ me busy, brotha.”

“Someone’s gotta work off that baby weight.”

“Need a ride?”

“Sam’s on his way. Thanks, though.”

Benny gives him a small nod before striding towards the front, where half a dozen lean, mean bean-eating machines are already lined up like ducks in a marsh. Dean chances a glance at his cell again. The screen’s blanketed by a thin black film until he presses the power button on the side.

Call or delete.

The second sip of coffee is what gets him to press the former.

“ _This is Castiel,”_ the Bale-inspired voice speaks, “ _I deeply regret not returning your call, but if you leave your name and number, I’ll be sure to get back to you in a timely manner. Thanks.”_

“Cas, can I call you Cas? It’s Dean, from the other night. Listen, I appreciate the gesture—”

***

_  
“—but I’m fine, really. I just had a, uh… I guess you could call it a slip-up. It happens sometimes. Anyway, thanks, but my brother’s gonna be here soon. Sorry to have bothered you. Okay, bye.”_

“The usual, Cas?”

Cas swivels his head between the person behind him and the usual barista, Benny, a forty-something with a lightly stirred Cajun accent, and a green apron as long and wide as the Mississippi. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“Not a problem,” he replies with the slap of a medium mocha. Leave it to Benny to have his order premade.

An elderly man’s voice cuts through: “It is for me!”

Cas repeatedly tells him he doesn’t deserve him, but Benny just tells him to—“Can it, Creaser!” (Or, you know, something along those lines.)

Benny gives Cas a onceover, from the rumbled scrubs to the five-o-clock shadow poking out from the horizon of his squared jawline and back to his deep blue, but crusty eyes. “Hold on,” he says before swiping a can of whipped cream from the counter and removing the lid on Cas’s drink. “You’re gonna need this.”

“Why, do I look extra whipped?” Cas jokes, but Benny’s not laughing.

“That’s one way’a puttin’ it.”

Cas clears his throat, watching Benny master the art of a perfect swirl before handing his drink over. “Thanks,” he says, sliding out of the place faster than the first quaff of his frappuccino down his throat.

He may or may not have spent the night before awake and worrying for Dean’s safety.

And thinking about Dean in general—what he looks like, where he lives, you know, the usual stalkery things.

“ _This is Dean’s other,_ other _cell, so you must know what to do.”_

“Dean, hi, this is Castiel again—or Cas, if you prefer. Some people call me Cas. I know it’s probably weird to hear from me again…”

***

_“…but if you’re interested, would you like to meet me at the Starbucks on 5 th today, say, 7 o’ clock? I’m not sure where you live… or anything beyond your first name, really, but I figure it’s the least I can do to compensate for that last super awkward voice message. Yeah. Thanks. And I’m doing it again… okay, uh, bye.”_

On the record, Dean’s mildly amused by the message.

Off the record, Dean’s head’s so far west, he’s on a 3:10 to Yuma and praying the heat stroke passes.

One thing about this guy, Cas, is he’s tenacious for someone whose voice sounds like he’s getting paid minimum wage to tell random strangers to put _that_ up _there_. It’s actually kind of cute. (You know, in a bordering stalkery kind of way.) It almost makes him wish he’d be better at answering his phone. Sam’s always badgering him to leave his phone on in case Dean needs him for a _real_ emergency.

No one’s taken so much interest in Dean. And from the sounds of it, it might not be purely due to his lack of sanity and overall irresponsible decisions.

For the first time since his mother died a little over a month ago, he feels _good—_ like he finally has control over something good.

Dean remembers he actually has work to do, so he sets his phone on his creeper and starts leaving a voice message for the mysterious Cas:

“It’s Winchester. Dean Winchester. I live on Ashbury Drive just south of The Roadhouse. I like the movie _Dirty Dancing_ , cherry pie, and singing way too loud. The sound you’re hearing right now is coming from a wrench. I love working under cars—more so than people…that came out wrong. But still true. And yes, I’d love to meet you for a coffee. Another thing, you’re not awkward… then again, I guess we’ll find out tonight. Bye.”

***

Cas has a break in-between shifts, so he leaves a message for Dean, who’s likely still “working under cars more than people”:

“Novak. Castiel Novak. I live on Oswald. Yes, that’s the street across from the Starbucks, don’t judge. I’m more of a _Ghost_ fan, and like my music at a respectable volume, but I do enjoy a good cherry pie. The sounds you’re hearing around me are people. That’s right, _actual_ people. I love working with them. Cars, handy as they are, break down constantly, but humans…they always get back on their feet.

Like you, you sound a lot better, Dean. Happier. But then, I guess anyone’s happier with a working brain. Anyway, I guess we’ll see each other in a few hours, so this call is pointless. I’m going to hang up now. Bye.”

***

It’s 7:00pm, on the dot, when Dean listens to the message for the fifth time.

He figures Cas is busy “working with _actual_ people” to be on time.

The thought and the message makes him smile over and over.

“Who the hell’re we waitin’ on, Chief?”

Dean turns to the sight of Benny still looking as he did this morning, but with more coffee stains on his apron. “I should ask the same about you, slick,” he says, trying and failing to wipe said smile from his face. “Go home, watch the Discovery Channel, have some crazy wild sex, take up pilates, _something_.”

“Why, you goin’ somewhere?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Exactly, so I’m stayin’,” he says, wiping off Dean’s table before plopping in the opposite seat. “So, I’ll ask again, who’re we waitin’ on?”

Dean wiggles his lower lip between his bottom teeth before leaning forward. “This is gonna sound weird, but his name’s Cas, and I—”

“Wait, _Cas?_ Castiel Novak?”

“How do you—?”

“Please, how do I _not_ know that boy,” Benny scoffs. “He’s a regular. Comes in ‘ere mornings and evenings. Seven-foot, body builder, hair down to his knees…”

Dean feels a heavy weight on his eyebrows. “Really?”

“No, not _really,_ Christ,” Benny laughs, throwing his head back. “No, but he _is_ pretty… that is, if this is a date.”

Dean tilts his head as if to say, _Are those coffee fumes getting to your head?_ But the spark in Benny’s eyes can’t be contended with. Benny knows Dean, probably as well as he knows Cas, which means—“Yeah, I think he swings your way. But I wouldn’t know for sure, the guy doesn’t have time to tend to a _plant,_ let alone talk’ta someone outside of his patient’s list… although…”

“What?” Dean presses.

“What’s it? Ten past seven? He’s usually not late for anything.”

Dean’s stomach twists like a pretzel before he’s hopping out of his chair. “I’ll be back.” Once he’s more than an earshot away, he dials Cas’s number. No answer. That’s really no shock, considering, but worries him more than ever before. “Hey, Cas, it’s me. Uh… listen, I’m, uh, I’m not sure where you are, but call me when you get this… I’ll make sure to answer this time. Please. I just need to know you’re—” Before Dean can finish, his phone buzzes. He glances down at the caller ID before switching calls. “Cas? Where are you?”

“ _Well_ ,” the voice on the other line says, “ _I’m standing outside of Starbucks,_ _sweating my ass off, because I’m staring at the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid my eyes on. He’s tall and lean with short, but neatly styled caramel hair you could run your hands through, and I’m absolutely **terrified** because—”_

Dean’s eyes crease under the pressure of his smile. “He’s staring back?”

“ _Yeah. Yeah, it looks like he’s not looking away anytime soon.”_

“I think you’re right about that,” Dean laughs giddily, covering his mouth. “I’m gonna hang up now.”

_“Me too. I’ll let you know how it goes.”_

“I look forward to it. Bye.”

“ _Bye.”_

**

_Oh oh, telephone line, give me some time_

_I'm living in twilight_

_Oh oh, telephone line, give me some time_

_I'm living in twilight_

**

 

 

 


End file.
